Stop Me If You've Heard This One Before: Not What People Usually Say
Author: Palgrave
Fandom(s): The Dark Knight / Sherlock
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: The Joker and all Batman related characters, concepts, situations etc property of Time-Warner and DC Comics. Sherlock and all related characters, concepts, situations etc property of Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss and the BBC, based on characters created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.
Author's Notes: Part of the Stop Me If You've Heard This One Before series, which is basically a glorified way of me trying to cram Ledger!Joker into as many short-fic crossovers as I can possibly think of. All feedback welcome, as long as it's constructive.
Summary: You should never ask a question you don't know or want the answer to.
It's the same question, every time. Only the answers change.
They always want to know. Deep down. Even as the ants cringe away from him in terror, their eyes are drawn to his scars, to the Glasgow smile torn raggedly into his cheeks, a permanent angry red smile at the madness of the world and the joke that only he is willing to get.
They always want to know. And so he offers to satisfy their curiosity.
Every time, the same question.
"Do you want to know," The Joker asks, licking his lips, "how I got these scars?"
Except even the Joker isn't prepared for some of the answers he gets.
There's a brief pause after the Joker offers the question while his nemesis in black scrutinizes him with eyes cold, revealing nothing as they stand opposite each other, both men barely even moving. Beside them, blue green light is reflected off the walls as the water in the swimming pool waves and splashes and the explosives in the black bag wait patiently to be detonated, all uncaring of the dramatic confrontation occurring around them. Outside the window, the cloudy night sky glows burnt orange with reflected lights (typical English weather), and the shrill sounds of police sirens getting nearer (the doctor friend's been busy it seems).
London's burning, the Joker thinks. Or it will if I have anything to say about it.
There's a strange feeling as the other man gazes at him, of every single detail about him being noticed, categorized, recorded. You can almost see tiny words floating around him, as if the other man's powers of observation are enough to simply make them appear.
A small smile, almost imperceptible yet somehow drenched in contempt, quirks at the corner of the detective's mouth. It disappears as soon as it comes.
"Self-inflicted," Sherlock Holmes responds impassively.
The Joker is not amused. His gun is aimed, unwavering, at the bag of nitroglycerin.
"You ruined my joke."
Sherlock shrugs. "It probably wasn't a very funny one anyway," he responds dismissively, as John Watson and the police burst in through the doors of pool, and things finally start to look interesting.
